


the worst first date, ever.

by knightcap



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Bad Flirting, Domestic, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, No Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 16:56:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11108847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightcap/pseuds/knightcap
Summary: Who knew that kicking off a relationship with your favorite person and your best friend could be so difficult? [SPOILER ALERT: everything turns out okay.]





	the worst first date, ever.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emilywolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilywolf/gifts).



> dedicated 2 my favorite furry once more thanks for dragging me into be more chill hell i almost made it out without a hyperfixation but 24 hours and a couple thousand words later here we are,

 

 

 

So today was going to be it. His first date- his first date that counted- his first date with Michael. He’d been chugging Red all day, to drown out the pill in his head, he’d brushed his hair and his teeth, and he’d even found a shirt that had, like, buttons. That made it date attire, right? Maybe he should throw on a tie? Maybe he should look in the mirror.  

Yeah, right. Jeremy noted the oily sheen coating his skin, sweat pooling in his pits already, an angry red lump on his upper lip, screaming for attention and protesting against landing any kisses. Of course there would be kisses. It was a first date, right? This was the steps to a first date. 

  1. Get nervous
  2. Go anyways
  3. Take Michael to dinner and a movie (pay for both)
  4. Have Michael do the driving home
  5. Kiss him on the doorstep 



It was a simple formula for success (and it was  _ his _ ) and Jeremy couldn’t picture getting past step one. His fingers itched to complain, and though he had more than the one option, old habits died hard. There was an unspoken rule, right? That you couldn’t talk to the person more than like, a few hours before the date, because otherwise you might interrupt them getting ready. (He highly doubted Michael would ever, for anything, take more than twenty minutes to get ready.) It was five thirty now, and Michael was supposed to be picking him up at six. 

 Jeremy called Michael anyways. “Hey,” he said, and continued on over Michael’s typical ‘Hey, man’ back. His voice was at once soothing and nervewracking. “How set are you on tonight? Maybe something, uh, came up.” He stared at himself in the mirror as he spoke, first picking at his collar, then his fingers creeping up to the pimple. He wasn’t picking, he was just feeling. Assessing the area, and definitely not pinching or itching in a way that inflamed at all. Fuck. Fuck. 

 “Something came up?” Michael repeated back, confused and seemingly unaware of Jeremy’s internal strife. A pause, and when Jeremy didn’t explain, Michael sounded worse. “If you’re having sec-”

 “NO,” Jeremy interrupted, loud and firm, because that wasn’t it at all, and he didn’t want to push Michael down that worry path at all. Never again. But- well, if he couldn’t be honest- “I just have like, this super nasty zit-”

 “Coward,” Michael said. “Stop being stupid. Six o’clock.” And he hung up. 

 Jeremy felt… better. He guessed. He kinda knew how that phone call would go. And he kinda needed it. He was worrying about nothing. 

 He sprayed on a fresh coat of deodorant and went downstairs, flopping himself into a couch in the mudroom, waiting for the familiar crunch of gravel. It was nice, for about ten minutes. The screen door letting in fresh air, and after he found the remote, some mind-numbing comedy or another playing on TV. That was, until his Dad decided to show up and make it, like, a thing. 

 “No roses, kiddo?” His Dad flopped in the middle seat, rather than the other end like a normal person, and Jeremy tried not to cringe too visibly, repressing how much he wanted to inch into the couch arm. “Come on, too cool to talk to me again?”

 The casual _again_ made him wince, though he knew it spanned more than the immediate thing Jeremy thought of. Just the couple of years of his Dad’s self-pity and laziness and total pantlessness that made Jeremy reluctant to talk to him at. No big deal. Normal teen stuff. “No, Dad, I’m just waiting for-”

 “Michael, I know, I know.” Dad waved this off with a hand. “Who else? Tonight’s your big date?”  


“I wouldn’t say big,” Jeremy said, trying to downplay this as much as he could for Dad’s sake and his own. “Just going out to dinner and a movie.”

“Classic.” The approval was clear in his Dad’s voice, and finally he shut up and turned to watch the TV. 

Jeremy was quiet, too, and watched a guy named Sal prank his way through a grocery store. He fully intended to sit there in safe old silence until Michael showed up, but as soon as the commercial break came, he wound up breaking that resolution. “Should I really have gotten him roses?”   


His Dad broke into a hysterical laugh, and Jeremy turned red enough to pass for the flower itself. He knew they were Michael’s favorite and all, but a good bouquet ran around forty bucks. He knew because he’d checked, and decided it was too extravagant and too expensive for only a first date. 

“You worry about that later,” his Dad finally broke breaths to say, and Jeremy exhaled in relief only to choke on sucking the air back in when the gravel, a whole ten minutes early, crunched in warning. Michael was never ten minutes early. Jeremy needed more deodorant. 

 

 - 

 

Michael peeled himself out of bed at four, and decided against a shower at four fifteen. He doused himself in Old Spice at four eighteen, and when Jeremy called at five thirty, he’d already done his prep. Cleanest hoodie, charged up his phone, psyched himself up with some jams, and chilled himself out with some games. All that was left was the hair gel for his signature trying-but-not-spike, and both hands were coated with the stuff when his pocket started buzzing. “Come on!” 

He wiped some of it into the sink, intending to wipe it off later, and then extracted his phone with one hand carefully, trying to get as little gunk as possible in the red cotton. He held the phone in his left hand trying to persuade his hair it wasn’t too oily to style with the other. “Hey, man.” Jeremy was talking over him, he noted a moment too late, and there was a pause while he tried to figure out what had been so important, anyways.  _ Something, uh, came up _ . His brow furrowed at this, and his hand paused halfway through a particularly casual swoop, and then another second later, his stomach twisted. “If you’re having sec-”

“NO,” Jeremy bleated, before he could even finish the sentence, but even too loud as that was Michael was glad. It was way too close to launch for his plans to change. Not that he really had a plan beyond ‘wing it’, but he didn’t want even that woefully threadbare rug yanked out from under his feet. 

He snorted at Jeremy’s lame excuse and ended the phone call as soon as possible, glad for once that it was just one of Jeremy’s stupid insecurities, rather than like, a total realization that what he was about to do was totally crazy and contrary to a vibe established over a decade. Close friends, but nothing more, and that was awesome, except Michael wanted the more. 

He finally nailed the swoop, and grinned, posing a couple times in the mirror to psyche himself up, and then washing the excess gook off his palms. The bits already dried into his hoodie weren’t a battle worth fighting, so he just let that be, and with nothing else to do loaded up his keys, wallet, and other necessities into the pouch, and headed up and out, remembering last minute to yell behind him. “I’m going out now!” Someone should remember his plans. And if they didn’t, that was on them. 

The Cruiser started without trouble, but the radio wasn’t on Michael’s side. He punched through the stations as he swung off his road, and nothing was good, which knocked him right back down into stomach twists of worry. It was stupid and completely lame, but if he didn’t have the music on his side, what did he have? Car dealership commercials weren’t good background audio. Well, sometimes they’d make fun of their ridiculous together, or Michael would prompt Jeremy to go to whatever driving classes they were pushing this week, and be met with the usual disgust, but he didn’t want that right now. 

He was totally wigging out over nothing. He forced himself to unclench his hands on the wheel a little bit, looking up at the sky and taking a deep breath in, and exhaling out again. 

In the time he looked away, he felt the tell tale lurch of an underwheel-squirrel.  

But it didn’t matter. If he didn’t have the radio, he still had Jeremy. Dinner and a movie. Simple.

 

 - 

 

Michael pulled up, and Jeremy jumped to his feet like the couch had burned him. “Alright, Dad, gotta go!” He made it as far as the screen door, catching glimpse of Michael shooting Jeremy some fingerguns before he was pulled back easily with a meaty hand. 

“Not that fast, you don’t! Go get that boy in here, don’t I get a right to suss him out? Make sure he’s not gonna get you into trouble?” Dad was enjoying this way too much. 

“Dad,” Jeremy groaned. “I’m not a girl. And it’s  _ Michael. _ ”

“So?”

 “You _know_ Michael. Come on.” Jeremy inched toward the door, and the grip on his shoulder pulled back, making him stumble back helplessly. He had no weight to fight it with. 

His Dad leaned toward the door and hollered, smiling widely in a way that Jeremy categorized as downright evil. “Michael, come in and say hi!”

In his car, Michael’s smile faltered, and after a few hand gestures from Dad he seemed to catch on, jumping out and jogging up with his hands stuck in his pocket (Michael hid his hands when he was nervous, Jeremy thought) and pushing his way in with an elbow. “Hi,” he said, glancing between Jeremy’s attempts to communicate through telepathy and scraggly eyebrows  _ Run while you can _ and Mr. Heere’s overwhelming pride and joy in the situation. A mixed bag to say the least. 

 “Let me get a picture of you kids,” Mr. Heere insisted, pushing Jeremy into his best friends side, pulling a chipped phone from his pocket. He’d been planning this. Michael and Jeremy exchanged a glance. “No, no. Get together, come on.”

 When it was clear there was no way they were getting out of it, Michael put his arm around Jeremy’s shoulder, leaving Jeremy only the option of putting his arm around Michael’s waist. It really highlighted their difference in their attire; Michael in the same sweater and jeans and scuffed sneakers as always,  and Jeremy’s attempt to look nice in his too short sleeves and too long tie and stupid khaki pants, and the smell of sweat and deodorant and spray on fragrance coming off them both. It was hard to say whose smile looked more strained. 

It felt nice to hold onto each other, supporting each other, but it felt weird to be looked at. It always felt weird to be looked at. Jeremy’s dad snapped plenty of pictures, and then sighed happily and lowered his phone at last. “Alright, alright. I’ve got what I need.” The boys both hesitated, and Mr. Heere tsked at them. “You just wait until prom season! I didn’t think Jeremy would have a date-”

“Dad!” Jeremy protested, his voice a cracked squeal, while Michael just laughed (traitor, Jeremy thought). 

He hadn’t thought about that yet, actually. He probably would have gone with Michael regardless, but he’d have guessed they’d be going together stag, or maybe skipping it because who needed the bad suits and the worse music, but-

“But that’s for then! You get him back by eleven?” Mr. Heere poked Michael’s chest, and Michael nodded, red-cheeked,  waving a hand in fake chill, reclaiming his personal space with the gesture. 

“Of course. Can we blow this taco stand?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”  

Michael took Jeremy’s hand, squeezing, and for the second time Jeremy was pulled against his will, following the touch that made his skin prickle. It wasn’t like they’d never touched. They’d held hands and cuddled up and fallen asleep together way before either of them had started pining or done anything about it, but it felt different now, with meaning behind it. 

 Michael let out a relieved breath once he was safe behind the wheel of his car, back in control, and out of prying eyes. He turned to face Jeremy in the passenger seat, only to find those wide pale eyes already on him, eyebrows sky-high in disbelief. 

They both cracked up laughing, and Michael shook his head. This time when he put the radio on the music that played wasn’t so terrible. 

 

 - 

 

Their usual table was taken at the diner, which kinda sucked. The Americana was staple food to any teenager in Middleborough, with harsh lights and cheap food and a glass bowl at the entrance that had probably been full of the same stale mints that were dumped in there when the place opened. It was unilaterally beloved. These tired old walls had seen more than their fair share of teenage angst and overactive appetites, puppy love and peppered plates. Tonight it was home to both. 

Their usual table was taken, so rather than a roomy booth with a view of the kitchen and the girls at the counter, they were stuck in the small table nearest the door, where there seemed to be a perpetual draft as people came and went. Busy, tonight. There was a line of tables pushed together in preparation for a group, which could only mean it would guess. 

 Jeremy was sitting hunchback, trying as always to take up even less space than he did, and Michael’s tongue seemed tied. He was staring down at the table, trying to decipher a secret message from the speckled linoleum. Trying possibly to decipher something to say. Help me, Obi-Dots Lineoli. You’re my only hope.

“So,” Jeremy started, but had nowhere to go. 

After a moment of waiting for this to go somewhere, Michael repeated back, “So,” and then offered, “Sucks that our table’s gone,” to which Jeremy agreed emphatically and they fell silent again. 

It was weird for it to be weird at all; one of the hallmarks of their friendship was that nothing was ever weird. Why was it weird? They were that close, and now left reeling in this unexpected, new… something. How did you dig yourself out of a hole if you’d never had to dig before? They’d become best friends when they were just little kids, when it wasn’t weird yet to be passionate about highly specific things and bad at talking to others and- 

-and speaking of, Christine Canigula came laughing through the door, and spotted them at once, slamming her palms  on the tense space between them, any potential privacy skittering in the wake. “HEY!” She realized her inappropriate volume, and readjusted, beaming in a way that made it impossible for either of them to be properly annoyed. “I didn’t know that you guys were going to be here! Did you come see the show?”

 “We saw it Friday, remember?” Michael twisted his body toward her respectfully, grinning. “And it was great!”

“Go Tate!” Jeremy agreed, glad to have some common footing. “Tonight’s the cast party?” It would explain the endless makeup, and the oddly vintage clothing. 

“Which you would know if you auditioned like I told you too!” Christine rolled her eyes at the nerve of Jeremy to take a year off, and banged her palms on the table a couple more times, making napkins shiver. “You could still sit with us! Come on, the more the merrier.”

Jeremy gulped, and Michael pulled out a hand to tug at his hoodie strings, and Jeremy stuttered, and Christine took that as a yes.

 

- 

 

Michael and Jeremy wound up side by side rather than across the table from each other, squished between about thirty other people riding the high of a successful closing night, laughter becoming shrieks becoming singing becoming spilled drinks. Jeremy’s khakis were in danger. Michael was glad he hadn’t dressed up.    
  


Should he have dressed up? It was weird seeing Jer in the clothes more than anything else. He knew for a fact he’d been in a neon graphic tee from Target for the majority of the day, because he’d received multiple Snapchats of it. At least until around one when his phone when silent and contact stopped coming. Which wasn’t his fault, he reminded himself, now picking at his cuffs harder, stretching a bracelet, tapping his leg, all trying to get out the energy under the table. It wasn’t his fault. 

He didn’t know any of these people. Well, he knew Jeremy, and Christine, and Rich was further down the table, but he didn’t know the extras or the pit band or the stage crew, and he definitely didn’t know the guy taking shots of coleslaw at the end of the table. 

He was being weird. He just wanted to pull his hood up and hide, or go back to their shitty awful table and shitty awkward silence. He tried to regulate his breathing, staring down at someone else’s plate, counting seconds, counting fries. Counting time until it wasn’t rude for them to leave. Jeremy was talking and having fun and he knew these people and Michael just wanted to leave, and that meant he was being the wet blanket, and that was totally uncool. Everything was too loud, there were too many people talking, there was too much in his head-

A touch. Too high, unexpected. Jeremy’s hand, on his thigh underneath the table, sending stars in his stomach and calming all the rest, his hands slowing and eventually stilling. It felt nice, but almost too intimate, like someone might notice any second, and he wasn’t ready for that yet. Michael slipped a hand out of his pocket and into Jeremy’s instead, and just for a second, they both half-smiled in sync. It felt better and more right than anything had so far tonight. 

Michael reached with his free hand to grab a couple of fries from someone, exhaling and dunking them unapologetically into the ketchup, shoving them into his mouth and soothed by getting something into his stomach. They still hadn’t ordered dinner, but he was cool with mooching, as seemed to be the general vibe.

“So why’re you guys here, anyways? By now the whole school knows to avoid this place on closing nights!”  

If the laugh following was a ripple, then it was Christine’s answer that caused waves. “Duh,” she said, gesturing at the pair. “They were on a date.”

Silence, and then an explosion. 

Michael rested his head on the table and resigned himself to a night without dinner. 

 

- 

 

“You guys were taking _bets_ ,” Michael said indignantly for the thousandth time, stealing his thousandth bite. Jeremy’s glad he’s at ease and all, but it’s creeping near seven, and the last showing starts at 7:30. Time to boogie. 

Jeremy tried to stand up without drawing attention, but that mostly means he stands up extra slowly, his back hunched, giving plenty of time for prying eyes to catch on and still not enough for Michael to, who is sitting still and reaching across the table to snag some of Brooke’s barbeque-drenched fries, unaware that his elbow is getting the same dip. Jeremy stands around awkwardly while Michael shoves three fries and the tips of his fingers into his mouth, and only once that’s accomplished does Jeremy catch his eyes. “We going already?”

“To the movie?” Jeremy reminded him, and Michael lit up.

“Yeah, yeah! Sharkolypse in Seattle, let’s-” 

Jeremy should just let it go, but the name gave him pause. “I thought we agreed on Bananaconda?” 

Michael groaned as he got up, shaking his head and wiping his hands on his jeans a couple of times. “Man, I thought we agreed on a regular movie-” 

“It is a regular movie! It’s a snake that only eats bananas! What could be more regular than that?

“How did I ever think you were straight?”

They bicker the rest of the way to the car, and finally, finally things felt normal. Just the two of them hashing it out good-naturedly over something that doesn’t really matter. Even if Michael was laughing too hard to really be driving in a way that could be considered safe. They made it to the movie theater alright. 

There’s still time, Jeremy thought suddenly, remembering his list as they walk through the double doors. Take Michael to a movie, pay for the tickets, and kiss him on the doorstep. The thought made his chest flutter almost painfully, and he realized there was nothing stopping him. He could totally just take his hand now and pull Michael between the arcade machines and- and get stuck there, because there wasn’t enough room for any human person, and he really did not need to think about being forcibly mashed up against Michael in a tight dark space right now, not with his nerves as wound as they still and always were. Later he’d kiss Michael, he promised himself, approaching the ticket counter, pulling out his wallet, and  _ freaking damnit _ . 

“Bananaconda isn’t running here,” the ticket girl sighed with the air of someone sick of repeating, and before Michael could even open his mouth, “and all showings of the Sharkolypse in Seattle have sold out for the evening. The theater sincerely apologizes, and I-” she gestured in a loose circle over her torso. “-beg you to not freak out. Now, can I help you?” 

Jeremy turned to Michael, feeling step four slip through his skinny fingers. “I mean, we could still go see something?”

 Michael pffted, loudly, shaking his head. “Like what?” He pulled his hands out of his pockets to make highly sarcastic air quotes. “ ‘Bride and Benefits’? Come on, I’d rather read the Austen.” Behind him, a gaggle of mothers on their only night out in months looked scandalized. 

Jeremy, trying to salvage the evening, prompted, “It could be funny.” Okay, that wasn’t an amused face. “Come on man, we’ll get popcorn and make fun of it the whole time, it’ll be  _ great _ .”

“And sharkless,” Michael grumbled, but he sighed and accepted his ticket, putting his hand in Jeremy’s once again and shaking the stub in his face as they approach the snack line. “The things I do for you!” 

It is most certainly, definitely, totally not great. The women onscreen weep and the chicks in the audience giggle, and under the glare on his glasses Michael’s eyes are painfully bored and glazed over, and Jeremy can’t follow it either because he’s been staring at Michael for so long trying to assess his enjoyment. 

An onstage starlet began to question her relationship with her deadbeat husband, and Jeremy’s eyes wandered down to Michael’s watch. 7:28. The movie’s been playing for eight minutes and Jeremy’s already itching for fresh air. 

_ “Oh, Kaitlyn!”  _ The starlet on stage pressed a hand to her chest, heaving in fake ecstasy. “ _ It’s time to pick the dress!” _

“You wanna get out of here?” He asked, loudly, and Michael turns, his eyes flooding with relief. 

“Fuck  _ yes _ ,” he agreed, and a couple shooshes them as they slosh their way out, popcorn bag crinkling and ice in cups rattling. “Sorry you wasted fifteen bucks on knockoff Keira Knightly.”

“Sorry I ruined our first date,” Jeremy said right back, and paused to look down at his tie, as if seeing it for the first time. Michael watched with bated breath, and he sighed in relief when Jeremy stuttered, “What the, what the fuck am I wearing?”

“I don’t know, but it’s _bad._ ” He took the initiative and reached over, yanked a couple of times, and managed to pull Jeremy’s tie off with only a minimal blush side effect, smirking as he dropped it into his still open palm. “You’re welcome.” 

Michael didn’t feel, for once, like fumbling with one hand, so he dropped onto the cold steel bench in front of the  _ COMING SOON  _ posters, placing the popcorn and his drink between them. The night air was cold and damp and refreshing. He took a slow deep breath in and out, and then finally blurted what he’d been repressing the past excruciating two hours. “Why’d you go all out like that anyways, man?”

 There was a long pregnant pause before Jeremy wilted, hunching over into his palms like he did when he’s particularly embarrassed, and the salt and soda prompted heartburn Michael’s got going could almost be fond and romantic. “I just wanted to get it right.” And then, particularly morose, “Like I never do.”

“Stop that,” Michael said, rolling his eyes and hitting Jeremy’s knee with his own, trying to hide how completely adorable he found it. “Stop feeling so sorry for yourself, alright? I messed up, too.” 

“How? Everything that’s happened, it’s been-” 

“Completely out of your hands, alright? Plus, like, I shouldn’t have asked you out in the first place.”

Jeremy looked crestfallen. 

“Not like that,” Michael insisted, pausing before slurping up a big sip of Diet Cola loudly, the ice rattling in the cup before he belched and carried on. “Nice,” he said to himself, and carried on. “Dates are for people who need to get to know each other, right? Jeremy, I know you like the back of my _hand_. I totally didn’t need to make this even a thing or make you pay for movie tickets to try and impress me or any stupid movie shit like that!”  

“You love stupid movie shit like that,” Jeremy accused, and Michael clutched the front of his hoodie as if offended, because it was his only way of trying to deflect this completely accurate accusation. “You shut up!” They devolved into bickering for a minute, exchanging pushes back and forth until Michael spilled both their drinks into Jeremy’s lap, and Jeremy toppled the whole bag of pavement across both their legs and the pavement and into an almost comically-perfect placed puddle, and they both start howling with laughter. All they need now to wrap up the evening is for a truck to drive by and splash them both with it. 

Rather than let that happen, now that Jeremy is instantly freezing in the cold night air, Jeremy places his buttery hand in Michael’s and pulls him up, and again it’s the most natural thing that’s happened all night, and they start heading for the Cruiser, still wheezing. 

“Yeah,” Michael admitted, “I love stupid movie shit like that. But I don’t like stupid shit movies like that-” Jeremy snorts, and Michael’s grin widens. “-and man, that stuff doesn’t work in real life like that.” 

Jeremy sighed, and held up his soda cup. “I’ll drink to that.”

Mr. Heere’s curfews were, as it turned out, completely unnecessary. Even after they got back and each went about their own wind-down rituals: rinsing out hair product in the sink, brushing buttery teeth and hands, stripping out of khakis and jeans and binders and button downs, and even after they’d managed to work the pullout couch in the basement by themselves, it was barely eight thirty. “Another raging Friday night, huh?” Jeremy asked, letting himself fall backwards onto the couch with a crash. Michael wasn’t far behind.

“I bet the cast party is cooler than this.”

“Better food for sure.”   


“I want Doritos.”

 “Dorito breath.” That made them both pause. Jeremy glanced over, only to find Michael’s face closer than he thought it was and a bit softer than usual. Not that Michael wasn’t always soft- Jeremy wanted to reach out and touch his cheek, and so he did, kind of patting it lamely. Soft, and just a little bit stubbly, not to the eyes but to the touch.

Michael’s heart in his chest was pounding loose and hard, feeling the moment. The last moment, before something changed. Or before nothing changed, but before something happened, and maybe that was a little more exciting. “Worried about how I’d smell?” The question wasn’t jabbing banter like it would normally be. It was code to double-check they were on the same page. 

“Not this time,” Jeremy said, fingers now daring to venture behind his ear, into still damp hair. 

Michael was smiling, again. Jeremy couldn’t get enough of that smile, he thought, watching what someone braver might call lovestruck. So warm, and inviting, especially when a moment later his lips were breaking it to ask, “You just wanna make out?”

Jeremy didn’t even waste time on a YES. He leaned in hard and fast, eager to finally get it over with, and mashed their noses together, Michael’s glasses catching him in the eye, their teeth clacking together painfully. The soft mood evaporated, and Jeremy withdrew, whipping his hand from Michael’s hair to press over his mouth. “Fuck!” he cursed, though its power was no doubt weakened by his pink face and muffled voice.

Michael was laughing, too, thankfully. “Okay, okay. Less eager, Beaver. Let’s try that again.” Jeremy shook his head, mortified, and Michael grabbed the hand from over his mouth, tangling their fingers together and pulling them down between them. Jeremy didn’t close his eyes this time, watching as Michael did, and leaned in, and pressed their lips together quick and brief with a little smack, before he was pulling away again. 

Michael opened his eyes, and stared at Jeremy, and Jeremy stared back, and then tried again. A second, equally awkward peck. As soon as Michael pulled back, Jeremy piped in with, “Dude, I’m pretty sure a good kiss involves, like, an open mouth.”

 “Yeah, because you’re doing so good leading by example,” he retorted, easily, and pushed at Jeremy’s chest with a palm. Jeremy recoiled, and let go, shoving back with two hands- Michael, never turning down a challenge, shoved even harder, and Jeremy fell the fuck off the pullout couch. His head cracked the floor, and Michael gasped in horror…

...only to exhale into more mutual gut-splitting laughter.

“How are we so bad at this,” Jeremy gasped, accepting the hand Michael offered to pull him back up, not laying down yet but sitting up cross legged on the bed.

 “The look on your face,” Michael wheezed back, wiping a tear from his eye. (“Drama queen.”) “Before you fell off. God, I’m so sorry. Shit.”

“You’re good. You’re fine.” Jeremy shook his head and looked down at Michael, who was somehow, despite everything, staring up at him like he was the stars in the sky. “You’re looking super gay.”

 “Guilty.”

They sat in a comfortable silence a few moments, Michael staring up at Jeremy, and Jeremy staring back, though more at his lips than the rest of his face. Finally, he cleared his throat, and swallowed just in case. (Excess saliva, his mind supplied unhelpfully.) (Shut up, he supplied back.) 

“You think you can try to not kill me if we try that again?”

Michael nodded slowly, probably staring a little too long, breath evening out to be a little too slow. Jeremy stared too long, too, leaning down, his back arching weirdly, but this time, his mouth pressing against Michael’s gently, soft, and careful, and intimate, just like any kiss with years of buildup should be.

Jeremy opened his eyes, pulled back just a little. It seemed wrong to talk after that, but he had to ask. “That one okay?”

Michael wasn’t grinning, wasn’t beaming his usual blinding sunshine, but instead had a much softer, dazed little smile curving his lips. Jeremy hadn’t thought it was possible to find a smile he liked even more, but this one he did. Because this one he’d caused, and this one was just for him.  

“Yeah,” Michael said softly. “That’s the one.”

 

- 

 

The rest of the night didn’t matter, after that, because the rest of the night was easy, and typical. They watched a movie, neither Sharkolypse or Bananaconda but something just as terrible in between, they stayed up too late, they laughed, and joked. 

They sat and eventually laid a little too close on the pullout couch. 

Worst first date ever, Jeremy thought, around two am, watching Michael start to snore, knowing in about two hours he’ll work up to a drool that’ll probably end up all over his cheek. 

Nah. Best first date ever. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> comments + kudos always appreciated! thanks for reading!


End file.
